


Caeles

by anzu_brief



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzu_brief/pseuds/anzu_brief
Summary: Hermione is a girl like any other. Smart, resolute and socially awkward, she is ready to start her last year of high school at Hogwarts, the boarding school run by her parents; and not quite ready to face the boy who broke her heart last spring, causing her to run away to London in order to avoid him.The boy who broke her heart, however, isn't like any other. Hermione knows she must move on if she is to find happiness one day, but she also craves to unearth the secrets he keeps buried and to understand how they relate to her missing memories from when she was only a child.The journey to discover such secrets will be a long, complicated one, creating conflict with her parents, turning enemies into friends and changing her irrevocably. Unfortunately, the dangers waiting at the end of this road might just be too grand to overcome...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Caeles

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative universe fanfiction that I started out a year ago. Then I stopped. Then I considered turning it into an original story. Then I didn't like it. Then, I was depressed for a year due to Covid related changes to my life, and lastly, here I am again.
> 
> This is a complete Alternative Universe set in a boarding school named Hogwarts but that's how far the similarities with canon reach. I believe that I kept true to the essence of every character, bus since they had a different upbringing and a different background, their personalities and goals differ greatly from canon.
> 
> Having said this, I hope you can give this story and chance and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Especial mention to my hard working beta, Destiny Evans. You were wonderful and a indispensable part of this story. I could not have gotten this far without you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your job.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter lived at number 97, Queen’s Gate, a very elegant, residential street in central London. The house itself was a spacious, white-stucco affair that had been in the Potter family for generations, located two streets over from Gloucester Road Station. It was very unlike the place where Hermione grew up, but she was going to miss it when she returned home tomorrow. 

She would also miss Mr. and Mrs. Potter, despite having only known them for two months, and she was going to miss Harry, their son, who was a year younger than Hermione and everything she was not – sociable, athletic and popular – but still had welcomed her into his house and his circle of friends, even though he didn’t have any reason to.

Like any other Saturday morning that summer, the house was quiet. Harry liked to sleep late, a bad habit he could only indulge on the holidays. Mr. Potter had an early shift at the station. Hermione made her way down three flights of stairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Potter was sitting at the table with her nose buried in a book, an empty plate and half empty cup of coffee in front of her.

“Good morning, Lily.” Mrs. Potter had asked Hermione to address her by her given name.

“Morning, Hermione.” Mrs. Potter raised her eyes from the pages of her book, surprise flickering across her face as she saw her, “You look very pretty this morning,”

“Thanks.” Hermione blushed slightly, explaining, “Viktor is coming to pick me up soon. I told him you were inviting me out for a goodbye dinner tonight, so he insisted we go out this morning instead.”

“That was very sweet of him. That boy is crazy over you,” Mrs. Potter said.

Hermione felt the heat rise a little higher on her cheeks and cursed her fair skin. Thankfully, Mrs. Potter spoke again, saving Hermione from having to come up with an answer. “Do you want some breakfast before you go? I ordered some eggs and sausages from Nando’s. Some pancakes too. I put everything in the oven to keep it warm.”

Hermione considered it. It was a very tempting offer; she had become a huge fan of Nando’s since she had arrived at the Potters. However, in the end, logic won her over and she declined. “I think we’ll be going somewhere for brunch, so I’m just going to have some yogurt now.”

Mrs Potter nodded, accepting the wisdom of her decision, and turned her attention back to her book.

The Potters’ refrigerator contained several different yogurt flavours; Hermione eyed them for a moment, then opted for a strawberry one. She turned away, grabbing a spoon and an apple, before sitting down at the table to eat. Even though neither of them spoke again, the silence between them was pleasant.

Mrs. Potter had earned a PhD in Neuroscience, and was employed by the King’s College in London as part of a Research Project. She had originally intended to become a neurosurgeon, but an unexpected pregnancy during the last year of her Medical Degree altered those plans, ultimately leading her towards fieldwork.

Hermione, who, as far as she could remember, had always lacked a female role-model in her life, had come to admire Mrs. Potter . She was everything that Hermione aspired to be one day: smart, successful, with a renowned career and a loving family. Mrs. Potter was far more quiet and compose than her husband and son, but in the weeks Hermione had been lived in her house, she had also proved that she knew how to relax and have fun.

Four weeks after Hermione’s arrival, Mrs. Potter had worn down her reluctance and taken her to a nearby Boots store, where she had bought Hermione what she called “Every Woman’s Basic Makeup Essentials.” She had also helped her figure out how to apply it tastefully after Hermione’s first attempt failed miserably. That had been right before her first date with Viktor.

Of course, a couple of days after that, Hermione had discovered the wonder of YouTube make-up tutorials, but Mrs. Potter had saved from going to her first date ever looking like a clown – or more likely, from texting Viktor to cancel their date at the last moment - and Hermione would be eternally grateful to her for that.

Just as Hermione was tidying up the table – putting the yogurt cup and the apple heart into the bin, and the spoon in the dishwasher - the doorbell rang, making her heart jump with anticipation.

“Come one,” Mrs. Potter encouraged her. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

Hesitantly, Hermione dropped the wet cloth she had intended to use to clean her side of the table. “Are you sure?”

“Go on,” Mrs. Potter insisted. “This is going to be your last date. Go and have fun.”

Hermione smiled at her gratefully and did as she had ordered. She flew down the stairs, stopping for a second in front of the mirror next to the door. Her golden hair was still tumbling in soft strands of straight hair to her jawline, tiny wisps framing her face. The little makeup she wore brought out the color of her eyes and complimented the shape of her face =very nicely.

She checked her phone was still in the back pocket of her shorts; the keys in the other pocket. She always kept her debit card inside her phone case, so she didn’t need to carry a purse. She took one last look at the mirror, breathed deeply, and opened the door.

Viktor was there, one step down from the door, waiting patiently with his hands folded in front of him. His face lit up with a wide smile when he saw her. “Hermione.”

She smiled back at him, “Viktor.”

“I have missed you,” he said, earnestly. Hermione took a step closer to him, letting the door close behind her. Viktor wrapped his arms softly around her waist. Electricity from his touch radiated from where his hand touched her waist, spreading pleasantly through her body. Hermione leaned up on her toes to kiss him.

It was a sweet kiss, slow and easy. They broke apart and smiled at each other. “I’ve missed you too,” she told him, despite having seen him three days ago.

Even standing one step above him on the porch, Hermione’s forehead barely reached his chin. Viktor had broad shoulders and a muscular build, like any other rugby player. Hermione, who would never be considered a tall girl, had originally been a bit put off by their difference in size. But he had been so sweet when he had first approached her – he had been embarrassed to ask  _ her _ out, for God’s sake – and he was so always so thoughtful and so careful of how he touched her that she barely minded it now.

“Where are taking me, then?” She asked him, intrigued.

“I thought we could take a walk in Hyde Park. You know, enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.”

Hermione chuckled a little, but nodded to show her approval to the plan. “That would be lovely.”

Viktor had been born in Bulgaria, but his family had moved to Australia when he was still a baby. He had lived up in Perth until two years ago, when he had been offered a contract to become the star player of the Saracens F.C., which had led him to move to England. He claimed to love London, but struggled to get accustomed to the cold weather and the forever cloudy sky.

“You would love Cornwall,” she teased him. “I talked to my parents last night and my dad complained it had been non-stopped raining for three days.”

That declaration caused Viktor to visibly shiver; he made a thoroughly disgusted face. “I can’t imagine living in a place like that,” he professed, earnestly. “London is bad enough, but at least here you’ve got the hassle of the city to distract you. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to making a visit or two...”

Hermione smiled at him non-committedly – refusing to follow that train of thinking. She couldn’t afford to think about the things that were waiting for her at home. The holidays weren’t over yet. She had one more day left.

They reached the gate to access the park soon after, and Viktor let go of Hermione’s hand for a moment. He reached into his jeans’ pocket and presented Hermione with a small plastic bag containing a handful of nuts. “Here,” he gave it to her. “To feed the squirrels.”

Hermione was touched. The last time they had been here, during their second date, she had lamented not having any food to share with the cute little rodents.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She stood up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Thank you, Viktor”

Viktor smiled, pleased. “I got them in Tesco just before I picked you up. I’m glad that you liked the idea.”

“I love it.”

It was still relatively early for a Saturday morning, so there were only a few tourists enjoying a stroll in the park. They avoided the major attractions like Kensington Palace, or The Albert Memorial. Instead, they lost themselves among the trees and the plants. It wasn’t long before they came across the first squirrel.

Hermione laughed and tried to get close, but the squirrel kept stepping back every time she approached it. “Here,” she offered him a nut. “Take it. It’s for you.”

The squirrel eyed the nut curiously, but would not get any closer. Hermione threw it next to him, careful not to hit the little creature by accident. The squirrel stood still for a second, then rushed to get the nut.

Hermione watched as the squirrel held the nut between his paws and dispatched it meticulously. “Look at that. He is so cute!”

Viktor was looking at the little rodents as well, a wide smile back on his face. “Come on. Give him another and I’ll take a picture of you together.”

Hermione was more than happy to do so. She grabbed another nut between her thumb and two fingers and offered it to her little friend. This time, the squirrel showed some courage, coming closer to her and taking the fruit between his paws before putting some distance between them again.

“Did you see that? He took it from my fingers!” Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically, looking up to meet Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor had his IPhone out, frowning in concentration. “I got the picture, but it’s a bit blurry. Can you give him another one?”

They spent almost an hour chasing and feeding squirrels. Most of the rodents liked to hide in the trees’ branches, so after Hermione or Viktor spotted them, the trick was to persuade them to come down to the ground. It was fun, and by the time they finished the last nut in the bag, both of them had managed to get a couple of nice shots and more than one decent selfie.

“You have to send me those pics.” Hermione was still smiling as they began to make their way towards one of the main pathways of the park.

“I’ll whatsapp them to you,” he said pleasantly, offering her his hand. “Do you wanna get something to eat?”

Hermione thought that was a great idea, and since neither of them wanted to leave the park yet, Viktor used his phone to find the quickest route to the park’s only restaurant, a small but fancy cafe by the lake.

Mrs. Potter had spoken highly of the place, citing it as one of the frequent places where she and her husband enjoyed brunch together, so Hermione was eager to see it for herself. It took them about half an hour to get there, and the location didn’t disappoint. The restaurant was right by the water’s edge; it had floor-to-ceiling windows to maximize the vistas from inside, and a stylish terrace with a blinding view of the lake.

They chose to sit at one of the outside tables; it would have been a pity not to, considering how brightly the sun was shining.

Viktor looked over the menu for a few moments, “Do you want to share a jug of Sangria?” he offered.

“I’ve never tried Sangria before,” Hermione admitted.

“Really?” Viktor’s eyebrows crept upward, surprised. “I’d never had it, either, in Australia, but I thought it was very popular here.”

“It is quite popular, but one of my parents doesn’t drink, and the other is more of a beer kind of guy. And of course, it’s not like I can order it myself.” Even if she could, she wouldn’t have had the chance before she came to spend the summer in London. Hermione sincerely doubted they sold sangria in any of villages near her home.

“Yes, of course. Sorry, sometimes I forget that you are only seventeen.” Viktor gave her that stunning, wide smile, “You are one of the most mature people I know!”

Hermione smiled at him, pleased by the compliment. At twenty one, Viktor was only four years older than her, but she was aware that he had thought her at least a year older when he had approached her the first time. Still, he hadn’t seemed terribly bothered when Hermione had revealed her real age. It had only disappointed him to know that she would be leaving at the end of the summer, to complete her schooling.

“We can share a jar of sangria, see if we like it,” she told him. “I think I’m going to order an egg and sausage bagel.”

“I might order that too. And a side of fries and nuggets.”

It longer surprised Hermione how much food Viktor ingested on a daily basis, not after he explained to her his daily routine in the gym, and how important it was that he kept his weight and muscle mass up. It made her grateful that a few hours a week on the treadmill, and her rule of no eating between meals, was all she needed to keep a healthy weight. 

Their lunch was served a little while after they ordered and was delicious. Viktor kept her entertained with tales of her childhood. He told her about growing up the oldest, an only boy with three sisters while both his parents worked full time; the series of Au Pairs that his parents had hired to take care of them – that’s how he had learned to speak five different languages fluently –; and how, from a very young age, rugby had become his outlet for all the stress and aggression that he had to keep in check in the presence of his younger sisters.

In return, Hermione had very little to say. “You know everything worth knowing about me already,” she told him, completely honest. “I grew up with my parents in Cornwall, which is basically the middle of nowhere. The closest village is about a mile away. I went to school there and I hated it. The only good thing to see around there is the sea.”

“You forgot to mention how you father turned your ancestral family house into a secondary school,” Viktor teased her. “Honestly Hermione, I think you’re selling the place short. I can’t believe a girl as unique as you grew up in a place as ordinary as you describe.”

Hermione lowered her gaze, playing with her fingernails. She was not thinking about the few un-ordinary things that had touched her life in Cornwall; she  _ was not _ . Thinking about it meant thinking about  _ him _ , and thinking about him was not good for her mental health or her heart. Viktor was – Viktor was good for her.

“I’m not as unique as you think,” she told him, softly. And she wasn’t. She was utterly ordinary.

“Now, don’t say that,” he reached for her hand, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “How many girls would come to see a rugby match, have front seats in the royal box, and end up reading a university booklet instead?”

“I told you,” she reminded him, cheeks flaring with heat, “I tried to watch the game. It just got too… too violent. I thought one of you was going to drop dead at any moment .”

Viktor chuckled, visibly amused by either her words or the memory of the first time he saw her.

In retrospect, the whole event was terribly embarrassing. Mr. Potter had gotten tickets for the game as a gift for Harry’s seventeenth birthday. The whole family was attending, including Hermione and Harry’s girlfriend, Ginny. While all the Potters were longtime fans, it had been Hermione’s first experience with game. Needless to say, she hadn’t been prepared for such displays of random violence; her anxiety had shot to the sky every time a player got hit, which literally happened  _ all the time _ .

She had needed something to distract herself, something that would keep her levels of anxiety down to a tolerable level; it just happened that that morning she had visited London Imperial College, one of the universities she was seriously considering to enroll in the next year, and they had given her a ton of pamphlets and booklets – ones she hadn’t had the time to read yet, and all of which she was carrying in her bag.

It had seemed the most reasonable thing in the world to take advantage of her desperate need for a distraction and read through a few of them.

“Well, whatever the case, I’m glad you did it. That was when I first noticed you,” he told her.

Hermione didn’t suppress the impulse to kiss him for saying that. She searched for his lips and he met her halfway. The difference in height wasn’t as pronounced when they were sitting down, and she enjoyed taking control of the kiss for a while.

They broke apart before the kiss could spiral out of control – they were in a public place, after all. She took his hand, smiling at him. “Come on. Let’s pay for the meal and then we can take a walk by the lake.”

Viktor acquiesced immediately, insisting to take care of the bill. It was their last date, after all. “Let me make it a bit special,” he insisted.

Hermione didn’t have it in her to turn down such a sweet request.

For such a big guy–a rugby player, no less–Viktor was unbelievable sweet; in fact he was probably the sweetest guy Hermione had ever met. He was thoughtful, successful, earned no small amount of money, had travelled extensively, and, although he was not famously known to the world, was the subject of several publicity campaigns. Most of the time, when Hermione was alone, she had trouble believing he had any real interest in her: a high school girl who hadn’t ever left her home before this summer, and who had no actual experience of the world whatsoever.

When they were together, however, there was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that he really liked her. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, how he listened to her rumbling about this and that university, and the hundred different majors that she thought might be a good options for her. He didn’t even complain when he accompanied her to Forbidden Planet –the best comic store ever– and she took ages in choosing a new book.

Viktor had given her a new self-confidence in a moment when she desperately needed to believe in herself. She didn’t think she would have been able to return home, never would have been able to face  _ him  _ again, if not for Viktor.

They walked hand in hand by the side of the lake, enjoying the heat of the summer sun. After a while, Viktor suggested renting one of the rowing boats to sail across the lake. Hermione, who had ample experience rowing – impossible not to, considering where she lived – thought that was a great idea. Perhaps she missed home after all, no matter how deeply she had fallen for London.

They spent hours in the boat, taking advantage of the privacy the small vessel provided them to caress each other with their hands and lips, exploring and enjoying each other's upper bodies. Hermione had never gone that far with a guy before; it made her feel nervous and confident in equal parts. Above all, she felt desirable, a feeling to which she had been a stranger before.

Mindful of her age, Viktor had never tried to take things further. Hermione appreciated it. She knew she wasn’t ready yet, which did not mean that she didn’t want to – especially when he slid his hand across her chest to gently trace the shape her breasts, and when she felt the heat of his skin through his clothes. She especially loved it when he brushed his lips against her neck, and gently licked and kissed her collarbone. When he nibbled her neckline with his teeth, it took Hermione’s breath away. It made her feel hot all over. She pushed her body against his – her mind full of a need that she didn’t fully understand.

By the time he walked her back home, it was late in the afternoon. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye.

“Keep in touch, yeah?” he asked. Hermione was one step up on the porch. Viktor had placed both of his hands on either side of her waist, as if refusing to let her go just yet.

“I promised,” she told him, kissing his lips once, gently. She winced as she realized both of their lips were sore and red from the boat. “I’m going to miss you a lot, Viktor.”

“Maybe I can come for a visit after the Autumn Season is over,” he considered. “You can show me everything there is to see around the dreadful place you grew up.”

It was hard to picture Viktor in her home; surrounded by the cold, blue waters of the Atlantic, and the tall, stone walls of Hogwarts. In Hermione’s mind, the two belonged in entirely different worlds. But Viktor was so sweet and thoughtful; she would like to see him again, and wouldn’t it be something to show  _ him  _ that she had done exactly like he had asked: she had found someone of her own species.

“I’d love that,” she said, keeping her thoughts firmly in the present.

“And next year, you’ll be attending university here. So this goodbye isn’t forever.”

Hermione kissed him again. His lips were soft and warm, if not slightly swollen from their afternoon. She felt the beginnings of a stubble on his cheeks that had not been there that morning. She closed her eyes, inhaling the clean, sweet smell of his body. She was really going to miss him.

* * *

That evening, the Potters took her to one of the most renowned Mediterranean restaurants in Soho. They caught an UberX from their house to Picadelly Circus, and from there it was only an eight minutes’ walk.

Like every Saturday in Central London, the streets were bustling with people walking, standing in groups, smoking, and chatting to each other. Lights and music were everywhere, lending the streets a warm atmosphere. Hermione loved it. It was the opposite of the village where she had grown up.

The hustle of the city, the people, the activity… London was always changing, people coming and going from every corner of Earth, too busy or too absorbed with was going on in their lives to care about anybody elses’ business. This appealed to her on the most primitive of levels. It showed that life was full of possibilities that she had never considered before.

It gave Hermione hope for the future.

The food was delicious, of course, but it was the company that made the meal truly delightful. Mr. Potter was one of the most easy-going men Hermione had ever met. He had a very laid back attitude, which made it hard to believe that he occupied a position of high responsibility in the London Police Force, and had even dined with the Queen in one memorable occasion, if Harry was to be believed.

He reminded Hermione of her own father.

“You have to tell Sirius to write more often,” Mr. Potter insisted while they waited for the dessert to be served.

“I’ll tell him. Although I doubt he’ll listen.”

Mr. Potter chuckled, “He hasn’t changed at all, then. It must drive Remus crazy.”

Hermione smiled. The way Mr. Potter talked about Sirius made it clear that they had been very close friends once, and it was obvious he still cared a great deal about him.

“I don’t know,” Hermione joked, “he claims to listen to my dad, but my dad will tell you different.” Mr Potter chuckled again. Hermione took a sip of her water, “How long it’s been since you last saw him?”

Mr Potter’s smile faded. He shared a look with his wife before shifting his gaze back to Hermione.

“Too long, that’s for sure. Probably a little before—” uncertainty shone in his eyes as he hesitated, appearing to consider his words. “A little after Harry was born. Remember, Lily? He came to the hospital with a sack full of presents. We’d made him Harry’s godfather--I thought he was going to pass out when we told him.”

“I remember,” his wife smiled, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear in an intimate gesture. “One of the nurses who was attending me joked that Christmas had arrived early that year.”

“I don’t think I remember him,” Harry frowned. “He’s the one with the black, long hair in those hospital pictures, right? I never knew he was my godfather!”

He looked at Hermione, visibly pleased by that new connection between them. Hermione was saved from having to come up with an answer by the waiter, who arrived balancing four plates of mouth-watering orange and chocolate flaming pudding — the cook’s speciality.

The conversation quieted while they all tried the smoking cake. It was delicious, the most exquisite chocolate flavour that Hermione had ever tasted, but her brain wouldn’t let her enjoy it properly. It kept nagging her.

What had Mr. Potter meant to say before he caught himself? Had he been referring to her adoption? That would explained his hesitancy to address the subject. Surely he didn’t—there was no way he knew about—

Hermione glanced at him, taking in the image he presented with his family: his brilliant, beautiful wife, and the son who resembled him. They were absolutely normal. There was no way there knew anything about—

Not even Sirius knew anything, really. His dad had taken her in when she needed a family, and he and Remus had given her just that. But he hadn’t been involved in whatever had happened before, whatever had caused the deaths of her biological parents — Hermione didn’t remember, but she was sure of that.

Hermione shook herself mentally. She was just being silly, getting carried away by the anxiety that had started to build in her veins now that her time away from home was almost over. Mr. Potter didn’t know anything. He and and Sirius had lost touch because he had been busy building a successful life in the city, while Sirius used all his energy raising Hermione and turning his ancestral family house into a boarding school for hormonal teenagers.

“I’m sure my dad would love to see you,” she told Harry, taking in another mouthful of pudding.

“It would be great if they could come down for a visit sometime,” Mrs. Potter contributed. “And of course, you are always welcome to stay at our home, Hermionie, for as long as you wish.”

Hermione took the chance to thank them wholeheartedly for everything they had done for her; for inviting her into their home despite having never met her before, and for making her feel like part of their family. Even if their paths never crossed again - and Hermione had no intention of allowing that to happen - she would never forget the kindness the Potters had shown her, and would always feel grateful.

She made sure to tell them that.

* * *

Hours later that night, sometime after Hermione had finished putting her belongings into her two large suitcases, someone knocked on her door. "Can I come in?" Harry asked, just before he poked his head through the door. "Mom wanted me to check if you have everything ready for tomorrow?"

"Of course." Hermione put the book she had been trying to read on her bedside table. "I just finished packing. I have my train tickets here." She gestured to her bedside table.

He nodded quickly, as if that were the response he had been expecting, but instead of leaving he came into the room, putting his hand in the pockets of his pajamas. "It's gonna take me a while to get used to having the house for myself," he reflected aloud, glancing at the empty bookshelves.

The corner of Hermione's lips curled up in a soft smile. "It will be hard to go home as well," she admitted sincerely. "It's been nice having someone to geek around"

Harry tipped his head back and let out an easy laugh. Then his face turned serious. "Will you be okay when you go back?"

"Of course," she answered immediately, swallowing past the sudden knot in her throat. Honestly she still had some serious doubts, but it was not something she wished to consider at the moment, even though she was deeply touched by his worry.

Tomorrow. When she would have no other choice.

She focused on now.

"You better take you A-levels seriously, okay?" she ordered. "Don't let Ginny lead you astray. I will kill you if we can't start uni together."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," he promised, laughing quietly. "Come here." He took her hand and pulled her into a hug. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Hermione allowed himself to cling to him for a few seconds. "I will." She took a deep breath before letting him go. "And you do that too. We'll see each other soon."

It was more a wish than a prediction but they both nodded in agreement.

Finally, Harry left and Hermione was left alone in her bedroom — what had been her bedroom for the summer. With a heavy heart, she glanced around the room, taking in the closed door, the empty closet, and the two suitcases on the floor. There was no way to deny it now. Summer was over. Ready or not, tomorrow, she was going back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts about this first chapter? Any feedback will be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Wear your marks and stay healthy, my friends. We'll get through these difficult times even though it might not seem like it at times.


End file.
